Plato must have judged it true
that her eyes were not of fools,
but bright and wit of tongue she was
the highest love she said pursue.
Divine is out of fashion ’cause
beauty is from skin; I must
know the earth we love to taste
and not the mind that gets the trust.
Out of the quickened, fleshly haste
I spy a material-like waste,
then we dismiss Platonic love,
but for it the heavens make the case.
And those hands are of Diotima’s glove,
I’ll never know why it comes from above,
I’ll never know why it comes from above.
Copyright @ A.E. Edwards 2014